Today I feel crazy. All over again.

I'm a wreck most days. I've just gotten better about hiding it and keeping it to myself.

I've been keeping up with the blog of a girl my age who lost her boyfriend as well, but this was two years ago and it was an accident. From the beginning, she was set on healing, and she had accepted his death. I've also heard from  and talked to other people who've grieved. And I realize that I fail miserably at grieving. I know there's "no wrong way to grieve," (I'm so sick of that phrase) but there's definitely a destructive way to grieve. I definitely win on that one. I'm not the only one that lost Chantz, but as I look around those who were closest to him why does it feel like I was the only one that stayed behind? I've become listless. Lifeless. And this girl, whose blog I read..she decided to live life to its fullest in her boyfriend's memory. I don't see how she could from the start. It does make a difference how a death happened. If Chantz's had been an accident I believe it would've been different. But there's no way to really know is there?

The night before Valentine's Day it hit me for the first time that Chantz was never coming back. I thought this whole time there would be an end to him being dead. It's surreal how we all cope. We create universes that make sense in our heads in order for us to deal with what we cannot comprehend. My lack of comprehension lies with Chantz no longer existing. And to be honest, I still find myself fighting it every day. I have this one thing to hold on to, and as long as it's there, there's hope that eventually he'll come back. I find myself clinging on to this  thought every day: that the only reason I've been pushed out of everything associated with his life, haven't been able to see his room, or his things, or even go to his old house where we used to spend so much time in, is because he's there and they don't want me to see him. I keep telling myself that if I only get to see his room, and the emptiness of it that's supposedly been there for the last seven months, then maybe I will accept that he's really gone. But is that something I even want to accept?..No

I found him, I saw him. Why can't I accept that it was really him? The doctors came into the room and told us that night that he didn't make it...I stayed there for hours after his parents left. Why do I rationalize every little detail of that night and make myself believe that it was all a set up? Maybe it's because I didn't see his body in the morgue, resting. But except for his brother and parents, no one else did either. I don't even understand how others have accepted his death when most hadn't even seen him in a while. I saw him that night, alive and after. And I still can't grasp it. The crazy workings of my mind trying to fix this. This scenario seems highly plausible in my head, with conspiracy theories intertwined in my likely story. Just like the movies of course. Damn you movies. But there's no way that I would be allowed to walk around half dead for so long if this was just all a lie, right? I don't see how you would wish that on your worst enemy let alone watch them go through it.
Like I said, today I feel crazy all over again.

I think about death more than I do about life. It's honestly a waste of life in my opinion. And I disgust myself (not enough to stop though) when I think about people in the world who are wishing with every fiber of their beings for life. And I, the girl who's more privileged than most, just because of the country I live in, spend my life on death.

I feel that Chantz opened up my eyes to the meaningless of it all. And I'm not trying to be sour here. It's just how it all seems to me.
Pointless.
I think about disappearing often. Just poof, gone, what a rest that would be. Since reality sank in, or at least started to, I died more inside. I'm not trying to be melodramatic here, I  just don't know how else to put it. Nowadays I feel empty; it's getting hard to even feel Chantz's absence. Being devoid of emotion is like not existing already. The only difference is that you're aware of it every second. How unfair that we have to be aware of this while those who are gone, aren't even aware of their absence.

The worst part of grief? Is that you can't control it. Every couple of days things take a turn for the unexpected. Today, insanity, as I like to call it. My make-believe world where Chantz's death is a huge and elaborate lie.
I'm leaving town in a few days, I hope that I can smile and sincerely be filled with something genuine, even if it's just for a little bit. Because utter emptiness is worse than pain. What's the point of being alive if the only reason you're here is because your heart's beating? I ask that same question every day.


(Grief can look like a lot of things not resembling sharp sorrow.)